


Obsession

by rionaleonhart



Category: Jak and Daxter
Genre: Jealousy, M/M, One-Sided Attraction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-02-04
Updated: 2006-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:27:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24185137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rionaleonhart/pseuds/rionaleonhart
Summary: Pecker can't stop following him.
Relationships: Ashelin Praxis/Torn, Pecker/Torn





	Obsession

**Author's Note:**

> I can't explain this at all.

It was cold and raining, the day the man came into Onin’s hut.

It wasn’t surprising that he had come in there. Most of the people in Haven City would come into Onin’s hut at one time or another – they would enter and glance around, quietly awed, before coming forward with their questions for her. This one, however...

Pecker – _noticed_ this one. Paid attention to him in a way in which he hadn’t looked at Onin’s clients before.

The young man ducked into the entrance, shaking water from his braids and long ears, and then glanced up. For a moment his expression seemed almost to be a hunted one, but all too quickly it changed to a smirk.

“May I help you?” asked Pecker guardedly, after a pause.

He seemed a little startled upon hearing this, and looked up to see where the voice had come from. Upon seeing Pecker, he quickly composed himself again, with little more than a raised eyebrow to show any reaction to meeting a talking parrot-monkey. Pecker began to wonder whether he had imagined the initial moment of surprise.

There was a long silence.

“Onin is a busy woman,” Pecker said eventually, rolling his eyes. The statement was flatly contradicted by the utter lack of people around, but clients seemed generally prepared to accept that a mystic must _always_ be doing something important. Pecker himself had no idea what Onin did between clients, but he was fairly certain that she wouldn’t appreciate a random stranger staying in her hut for too long. “If you have a question, ask her. If not, stop wasting our time.”

The man glanced briefly over at Onin, then shook his head, water flicking from the wet braids. “No,” he said, perfectly calm. His voice was strange – there was a rasping, almost sandpapery edge to it. “I just came in here to get out of the rain.”

Pecker began to wonder whether he had imagined the initial hunted expression, too.

Pecker began to wonder why he cared in the slightest about what this stranger was thinking.

“This is not a shelter. If you were out in the rain, it is your own problem. People – _real_ people, people who need to see Onin for a _reason_ – might want to come in here.”

“I’ll stay out of the way.” There was an edge to his voice that might have been sarcasm. It was difficult to tell.

Pecker glared at him and ruffled his feathers, but was distracted from whatever he had been about to say by a movement in the corner of his eye. He turned around to see Onin shaping symbols in the air.

“Onin does not often speak to people who have no questions for her,” he remarked, somewhat surprised.

“I’m honoured.” Yes, it was definitely sarcasm. Disrespect. “What’s she saying?”

“Torn...” Pecker murmured almost inaudibly, frowning. “...something is torn?” He paused. “Ah, it is your name.” 

“Correct.”

People were usually surprised when Onin could tell them their names. This person, this ‘Torn’ – he didn’t seem to care at all. It infuriated Pecker.

He looked back to interpreting Onin’s message, and then smirked. This, if anything, would throw him.

“She says that you have not come in here to get away from the rain at all. She says that you are running from the Krimzon Guard.”

“That’s right.” He was utterly emotionless, even when Onin revealed his lies.

Pecker _hated_ him.

-

When Pecker saw Torn in the streets a few weeks later, he felt oddly compelled to follow him. He had been irritating, yes, but his arrival in the tent was the most interesting thing that had happened to Pecker in some time, and he had begun to despair of ever feeling interest again. Translating for Onin was, he had to admit, not the most riveting of existences.

So when he saw Torn, he hesitated for only a moment before following him, gliding overhead in silence. When he eventually entered a door in a secluded alleyway, Pecker made a mental note of it and then flew away, feeling oddly proud of himself for being so sneaky.

Pecker spent some time observing Torn on a daily basis, and he came to know the places he frequented very well. He was obviously involved in some sort of subversive activity, but that wasn’t what fascinated Pecker. It was Torn himself, his apparent lack of emotion, everything about him. Pecker found himself wondering why he had decided to fight for the people when he seemed to have so little regard for anyone.

So he decided to ask.

Torn didn’t seem surprised at all when Pecker swept out of the sky onto his shoulder, and Pecker found himself wondering whether he had been rather less subtle than he had thought. He refused to answer his questions, and at one point he threatened to wring Pecker’s neck for knowing too much, but at no point did he actually attempt to dislodge him.

_It’s a start_ , thought Pecker, as he flew away.

-

After several months of rather one-sided acquaintance, Pecker found the answer to the question he had long been wondering about, out of purely scientific curiosity: was Torn actually capable of affection?

Torn was speaking to somebody else when he found him – he had seen her before, taking out a swarm of Metal Heads that had invaded the city – and Pecker was astonished to see that he was laughing softly at her comments, standing closer to her than Pecker had ever seen him with a person he was not threatening. It was difficult to make out their conversation, and perhaps Pecker was imagining it, but it seemed to him that Torn’s voice was a little less harsh than usual, his movements a little more relaxed.

The revelation that he could actually have a normal relationship with somebody was... disappointing, almost. A fall from the pedestal on which Pecker had placed him. He _had_ been only human, after all. But there was something else alongside Pecker’s slight loss of regard for him, some sort of emotion that he could not fully identify.

He tried to ignore it.

When she turned and began to walk away, Pecker launched himself from the pipe he had been perched on and came in to land on Torn’s shoulder. Torn didn’t move at all, and if Pecker didn’t know him so well by now, he would have thought that he hadn’t even noticed.

“What is her name?” asked Pecker, staring at the woman as she left.

“She’s called Ashelin.” Torn said it softly, absently, as if he didn’t even realise that he was speaking.

He watched as she walked away from them, her bright red hair swaying ever-so-slightly behind her. He watched as she paused at the corner and then half-turned, acknowledging the two of them with a slight nod, the rising sun illuminating the too-similar tattoos on her face. He watched in silence, subconsciously tightening his grip on Torn’s shoulder, as she rounded the corner and finally disappeared from view.

She was not, Pecker thought, especially attractive; but she was young, and she was skilled, and Torn was clearly in awe of her, however much he tried to hide it.

Pecker _hated_ her.

-

Now Torn is blurry with speed, flying through the streets of Haven, and it is all that Pecker can do to keep track of him. He has never flown this fast before. He’s sure that it can’t be good for him.

“Slow down, can’t you?” Pecker calls after him, flapping as hard as he can, trying desperately to keep up with the Zoomer as the distance between them slowly lengthens.

“I really don’t care whether you can keep up or not,” Torn says quietly, upping the speed by a few notches. His words whip past Pecker, almost unintelligible over the wind. “If I slow down, the Guards might recognise me. I value my life more than your company.”

“Where are you going?” Pecker yells, his voice already beginning to hoarsen.

“To meet Ashelin,” Torn responds. Pecker flaps a few more times, falling behind, then makes a final effort and manages to land on Torn’s shoulder. His little monkaw heart is beating with insane speed, with almost painful speed after the exertion of flying. He thinks it might burst; might burst and kill him and leave Torn stunned and blood-spattered. It would probably serve him right.

“Why would you want to meet her?” he asks distastefully.

“We’ve got a mission together.” He shrugs his shoulder, trying to dislodge Pecker, but he digs his claws in determinedly. Torn swerves a little too sharply, swears under his breath. “Why are you always following me?”

Pecker is silent for once. The part of his mind that isn’t focused on not losing his grip and slamming into the Zoomer behind them has been asking him exactly that question as they speed through crowded Haven streets: why _has_ he been following Torn?

_Because he is interesting,_ he tells himself. _Because Onin said that he has a part to play in the events to come._

_(because of facial tattoos and a voice like sand and)_

There’s really no point in thinking about it too much.

-

The rest of the journey is in silence. Torn rarely seems to speak without prompting. Pecker usually speaks almost constantly, but he is dazed and exhausted and thinking more than can be good for him. He shouldn’t keep following Torn like this. What is he gaining from it?

Torn’s shoulder is warm beneath him.

There has to be something more than that. Nobody would stalk a man and strain their wings and make such incredible effort for _warmth_. Onin’s hut is warm enough – stifling, sometimes. It is admittedly rather enjoyable to be carried around the city on someone else’s shoulder, but it’s still not enough. There has to be something _more_ than that. It can hardly be for Torn’s company. Torn barely seems to acknowledge his existence.

It – _bothers_ him, somehow, that Torn seems to care so little about him. If he were to die, he doubts that Torn would even notice. He isn’t sure that Torn even knows his _name_.

He is trying so hard. Is it strange to expect something in return?

Of course it is, he realises instantly. Torn sees him as an _irritation_ , not a friend, not a – not anything else, not –

“We’re here,” Torn says abruptly. He swats absently at Pecker. “Get off. I want to speak to her alone.”

Pecker glares at him, but obeys. As he takes off, he digs his talons into Torn’s shoulder as hard as he can. It’s something he does often. It doesn’t leave much – little markings, little cuts that quickly heal – but he thinks that perhaps if he does it enough the tiny scars will become permanent, and then Torn will _have_ to remember him.

He doesn’t even seem to notice. Just dismounts from the Zoomer and walks out to greet her, the slightest hint of a smile on his tattooed face.

Pecker watches from a distance, and despairs.


End file.
